Falling Slowly
by amyblair
Summary: First appeared in Blood Brothers 3 Zine. Season 4, Sam is holding his secret close to his chest while Dean is trying to hold them both together. When a snowy drive turns into a nightmare hunt, both brothers wonder if they can hold on to anything.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. Don't claim to.

**A/N:** This story first appeared in the zine Blood Brother's III. It was such a joy and humbling experience to be part of such a project. My thanks to Jeanne Gold for making that possible for me and for putting up with my tantrums and newbie-ness. This fic is definitely more tight than my normal writings. Which, is a good thing. I learned more from this fic-experience than any others.

**Story:** Takes place in mid-late season four. There's something in the snow. It's not the abominable snowman, but it appears to be a monster. Story will be four chapters long and I will update every two-three days as not to make you wait.

**Falling Slowly**

**Chapter One: Sinking Boat**

It wasn't their first trip through the mountain ranges of Oregon. They had been there plenty of times before. Nabbed a nasty wood witch in the Blue Mountains, took down a harpy in the Pueblos, and as for the Steens…well, they hadn't been there in a long while. Not much had changed, though. They were all beautiful: rough terrain, rocks that were jagged and snow covered, and full of the possibility of finding something new to hunt.

Lucky for them, they weren't looking; they were just passing through on their way down south. Back to Bobby's where their old friend had found a sign.

"What kind of a sign?" Sam had asked, interested. He held his breath, hoping. Lilith's head, bloody on a plate, would be the result of a good sign.

"Diabolical," was all Bobby had supplied, but it had been enough.

Sam had his bags packed and the Impala roaring to life before Dean even got a shoe on.

"We haven't finished the job," Dean mumbled as he opened the driver's side door.

Sam looked up at him, his hands gripping the plastic of the wheel, his foot like lead on the pedal. "It's a pissed-off ghost, Dean. I think we're going to have to leave it in the hands of the Salem Police Department."

But Dean hesitated, answered with a small smirk and a shake of the head.

"We'll come back," Sam insisted. "It hasn't killed anyone."

"Yet."

Sam tilted his head. "It's been haunting the refinery for twenty years, man. I think we can leave it for a few days."

Dean sighed, his breath condensing in the frigid air. His hand waved at Sam.

"What?"

"What do you mean 'what'?" He started a full-on swing into the car. "I'm driving."

Sam scootched over. He had to pick and choose his arguments lately. Actually, both of them did. Nothing like driving for hours on end screaming at each other on fumes and cold anger until one of them turned blue in the face. And still nothing accomplished.

Nah, the silence was just as good an end game for that. So they said nothing as they left Salem, and more of nothing as Dean pointed the old Chevy southeast.

www

Radio stations came and went as Dean wound his way down the mountains. It was no surprise when they were greeted with static as their glide off the main roads turned into the winding curves of the deep Oregon hills. Dean turned the radio off and waited for Sam to reach down for the box of cassettes.

But he didn't. And Dean didn't ask. Didn't matter anyway; the thrum of the old Chevy against the chilly asphalt was music enough. Besides, if he kept her right at fifty-seven, she almost cast a beat similar to "Misty Mountain Hop." Dean smiled to himself. Head bouncing to the boom-boom, he slid his gaze over to Sam, who was oblivious to his sly little secret. His brother wasn't the only one these days who could keep his mouth shut about things these days.

With all the distractions running through his mind, Dean didn't notice the pull of the car to the left, his hand having to palm it over to the proper lane. He had only looked in the rear view mirror once, even though the car chugged three times. But when she started to go, all those signs he'd dismissed came rushing through the space between his ears.

It started out as a clink. Which led to a clunk. Which led to an, "Oh, shit."

"What is it?" Sam glanced over, setting his funk aside and replacing it with concern for the need to keep their ride in motion. Keep his agenda in arm's reach.

"She's just…" Dean took in a breath, his eyes skating over the dials, then up as a whiff of smoke rolled out over the sleek black top. The Impala tried to answer, tried to explain the problem with a harsh chugga-chugga. Dean swallowed hard. "Aw, baby." He glanced at his brother. "She's sick."

By the time Dean had the Impala pulled off the exit and to the only mechanic's shop he could find, his baby was shaking, and gray smoke plumed in columns from under her hood.

The mechanic, whose nametag read "Wilfred," had her hoisted high in the background as he wobbled over to the counter where Dean and Sam were waiting. His large feet stepped in time to the music playing on his shortwave radio.

_Counting flowers on the wall, that don't bother me at all._

His overalls were too tight for his round belly, the stitching pulling at frayed seams.

_Playing solitaire 'til dawn, with a deck of fifty-one._

"Nice wheels." He made a smacking sound with his lips.

_Smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo…_

The whole shop was a little too Pulp Fiction for Dean, and he wondered if they were keeping a Gimp in the basement, and what was actually locked and loaded under the desk the big guy was standing behind.

_Now, don't tell me I've got nothin' to do._

But it was the little dark-haired girl who was wrapped around the man's thick legs who gave the place more of a homey feel. She looked up at them, her face half-hidden behind the denim. Couldn't be over four years old.

Dean pretended to ignore her, his eyes flicking to the Chevy suspended in the air. "It's the radiator, isn't it?"

The big guy wrung greasy, dirty hands on an equally greasy, dirty towel. "Yup. Busted." He smiled, showing his yellow-green teeth, his left incisor missing. Apparently not a fan of the dentist.

"Sh—" Dean glanced down at the little one, who was staring back up. Her ears stuck out from the strands of black. "Shoot."

Wilfred nodded back, gently shaking the little girl loose of his pant leg. "It's gonna need replaced. And, uh, a coupla rods blew. Needs a bit of a once-over on the tranny, too." Dirty, super-sized fingers scratched at his thinning scalp. He glanced at Dean over his cheeks, watching his expression.

Dean's eyes slid to Sam, who, since the clinking had begun, hadn't said much of anything. "What did you do?"

Sam looked sideways at his brother, pure confusion in his eyes. "What?"

"I told you to take care of her!"

"I did!"

"I showed you how to keep up the transmission…"

"I did!"

"I showed you how to replace the rods…"

"I did!"

Sam walked away before Dean could get any more out. He glared back at the large overalled man and grit his teeth. "Just the radiator," he ground out.

"Yeah, but…"

Dean's eyes narrowed even more. "I can take care of the rest. Just fix the radiator."

"I'll need to replace the rods for you to drive her."

A muscle normally hidden bounced in Dean's jaw. "Fine."

He turned from the mechanic and caught Sam glaring at him. Jesus Christ. He could never escape the strain, the stress. It was always pulsating in front of him, lately in the form of his too-tall brother. Dean jingled his pocket for loose change and shoved quarters into the lone vending machine.

Sam walked up behind him, his reflection warped by the Plexiglas. "I took care of her," he grumbled as a KitKat fell to the bottom of the machine.

"Not good enough." Dean reached in and grabbed the candy bar, then tore it open. Really he'd rather have what was left in the flask he had resting in his jacket pocket.

A throat cleared, and they both looked over at Wilfred. "You know," the large man thumbed behind him, "that car's, like, forty years old…"

Dean could see Sam shake his head in warning at the man, but it was too late. Those were fighting words. "That car is cherry! I can't count the number of times the dial's flipped over to another hundred thousand!"

"Yeah, okay." Wilfred's hands came up, palms out. "I'm just saying, even if you watch over somethin', take care of it, sometimes…they just give, they break."

Dean rotated his shoulders as Sam blew out a breath. Dean shut his eyes a second and tried to calm his emotions and control his tongue. It wasn't the mechanic's fault he wasn't in on the whole end-of-the-world gig the Winchesters were privy to.

"Daddy, I wanna candy bar, too," the little girl piped up, her voice soft and crisp.

The mechanic looked down. "I already gave you a dollar, Lemon. Once it's gone, it's gone."

The dark gaze landed on the KitKat, watching as Dean broke off a piece and chomped on it.

"How much longer you open?" Dean asked, eyes catching 8:07 p.m. on the Budweiser clock behind Wilfred's counter.

The mechanic kept his eyes on his customer. "Closed 'bout seven minutes ago."

Dean nodded, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "Great."

"You know…" The guy hobbled over to the counter. He pushed a button, and the Impala started her slow descent to the ground. "Gonna take me a coupla days to get 'er done."

Dean felt his fingers curling then flexing at each word, scraping chocolate off his fingers and onto his palm.

"Daddy…"

"I don't have any more money!" the little girl's father shouted down. "Go back in the office and watch your movie!"

Dean could see the child's throat bob up and down. Recognized the signs of a little one holding back tears, knew her feelings had been hurt. He uncurled his hand and broke off another piece of the candy bar. "Here."

Lemon's eyes floated across to Dean's fingers, holding the chocolate wafer in offering to her. She reached up and snatched it from his hand before Wilfred had time to object.

Sam shuffled next to Dean, frustration radiating off him in waves. "Okay. We need a place to stay the night." He stole a resigned look at Dean. "Nearest motel?"

The big balding head was shaking back and forth. "Got no motels here." He pulled out a small phone book. "You boys are in mountain towns. 'Til you hit somethin' bigger, you got two choices: find a cabin or sleep in yer car." He grinned, yellow and green. "I'll call up and see if there's any logs available."

Dean turned away, his head hanging down, the toe of his boot catching as it scuffed at the filthy tiled floor beneath him. In the past month, they had been all over the country. Chased down anything they could hunt as they waited on news from above. His shoulders fell forward. Hadn't heard much of anything, though. And it was getting to him. His temper was short, his nerves were on edge, his mind was…well, his head just wasn't in the game. All this waiting-for-the-apocalypse crap was getting old. He and Sam were supposed to be part of the fight, not second-string benched players.

Now they were stalled in some nameless mountain town in Oregon. No angels. No demons. No hunt. No Impala.

Just him and Sam.

"I treated her good," Sam's voice strayed over. "I changed the oil, checked the tires. I was under the hood every week."

Dean bit his bottom lip. He broke off another piece of the KitKat and ate it. The sound of the crunching drowned the lies Sam told.

Sam released a long sigh. "I traced every part of her with my fingertips."

"What?" Dean watched as his brother rested his hands on his hips. Dean tried to imagine that, remembering Sam's words: _You were gone._ Wondered why Sam would even want to trace the Impala with his fingers. He looked away as Sam's eyes cased the joint. They didn't stop on anything in particular, just looking. Definitely thinking. Sam did that more than ever nowadays. Problem was, he wasn't talking about his thoughts, just secretly acting on them in the early morning light and behind broken-down buildings, accompanied by the demon bitch Dean still didn't trust.

"…maybe the car just needs a break…"

Dean squinted at his brother. Is he still talking? Dean shoved the last of the KitKat into his mouth, ignoring whatever Sam was yammering about.

But then Sam looked alert and was pointing, so Dean turned and noticed a pudgy hand hanging up the phone.

"Good news." Wilfred smacked his lips again. Must be a habit. "Sally says she's got a coupla cabins open up on the hill."

Sam nodded. "That's good."

Wilfred handed them a map of the area, the Klamath Mountain Region, a large red "X" marking where they needed to go. Dean grabbed it from his hand, his eyes following the line of road as it looped around bends and hills, up not one, but several mountains.

The mechanic was giving Sam directions. "…you gotta keep your eyes open for Rita Hayworth."

Dean's brows lifted. "Rita Hayworth?"

"Yeah," Wilfred nodded, "your turnoff. If you don't watch for it, you'll fly right by. If you come to Greta Garbo, you've gone too far. That means you gotta keep going 'til you come to Mae West. That's the only road with big enough curves to turn around on and go back." He listed the streets on another sheet of paper, then handed it over. "It's a bitch up there."

Dean took the list as well and folded the two sheets of paper together.

"Wilfred—" Sam started.

"Bill." The big man smiled.

"Willie!" The front door of the shop chimed as a gust of wind blew through the small room, curling papers secured to a bulletin board. "Jesus Christ!"

Sam and Dean both turned their heads, watching as a small figure wrapped in a puffy red coat slammed the door shut.

Wilfred sighed, his eyes sinking to the counter.

Black boots stomped on the short-napped carpet, and long fingers tugged at the tie around the garment's middle. Red locks bounced out of a furry hood, and a small, slender body stepped away from the confines of the unflattering coat.

"It's gonna turn to shit out there." The woman started smoothing her hair out with her fingers, fighting a losing battle with static electricity.

"Snowing again?" Wilfred asked.

"Not yet." She turned her attention to the front of the store, her face turning up in a wide jack-o'-lantern smile. "Well…"

"I'm with customers, Addie."

Green eyes narrowed. "I can see that. Do you not think that I can see that?"

The mechanic shuffled his feet. "Of course you can…"

"Well, you're talking to me like I'm stupid." She pointed a finger at her chest. "I'm the one who graduated from high school, right?"

Wilfred nodded back.

"Right. Not stupid." She eyed the Winchesters. "I need one of those shirts, you know? The one with the finger pointing. Says 'I'm with Stupid.'"

Dean chuckled.

The woman looked at Sam. "One of you's got a sense of humor."

Sam smiled back, dimples galore.

"You both seemed to show up the day God gave out looks, though, didn't ya?"

"Addie."

Her sharp green eyes shot up at the big man.

"I'm trying to…" He paused, choosing his words. "…settle up here."

"Uh-huh."

An awkward silence followed. Addie threw the big fella looks that if they could, would have been considered weapons in some states. A few beats of tension and facial tics, followed up with unsaid words, then Wilfred cleared his throat. "This is Addie, boys. My wife."

"Nice to meet you," Sam spoke first.

"Really?" Dean grinned, looking in surprise back and forth at the couple. "You're married?"

Wilfred raised his eyebrows. "Six years."

"Yep." Addie grinned back. She had a great smile, nice white teeth underneath pale pink lips. "Six years…five months." She swished her hips past them, and leaned against the counter, her head bowed. She breathed against the glass, lips coming within dangerously close contact. Quietly, she started tracing hearts on the misty vapors left there.

"Well," Dean observed, "must…really be love."

Wilfred scowled over at his wife. "Oh, God, I can't stand her."

Addie reached over and pinched his oversized cheeks. "Can't win 'em all, can ya, baby?"

The mechanic pulled away from her snappy fingers and rubbed at the red marks. "Cut your nails."

The redhead looked tiny against the man, but there was no doubt who could take whom in a dark alley. "Where's Lemon Pie?"

"In the office."

Addie's head tilted in that direction, her gaze looking through the glass at her daughter watching a small TV on a desk. "What is she eating?"

"Uh…" Wilfred pointed. "He gave her a candy bar."

Red hair flew as she twirled to face Dean. "A candy bar?" She let out a line of curse words, her hands flying into the air like someone who'd been off their meds a day too long.

Dean startled. "Just…part of one."

"Why? Do you have to take her home tonight? Do you have to put her to bed? Don't you know not to give candy to a young 'un right before they go to sleep?"

Dean blinked. "She wanted—"

"Of course she wanted it!" Addie cupped her hands over her mouth. "She's four! That's what four-year-olds do!" She dropped her hands and huffed at him, then turned and stomped into the small office.

Dean glanced at Wilfred, then back at the open door. "I'm…sorry," he called. Too little, too late.

"Bill, um…" Sam stumbled over his words. He looked over at Dean, then back to the big mechanic and stated the obvious. "You know, we don't have a way to get up the mountain."

"Where you headed?" Addie yelled back.

"I'm sending them up to Sally's. She has a cabin waiting for them."

More words tumbled from the redhead's lips. Nice ass and warm place, then Addie's lips parted, beaming big. "Well, you better get going. We're supposed to get a snowstorm, and if you get stuck up there…" She hesitated. "Well, you don't wanna get stuck up there."

The large man sighed. "I keep a coupla loaners. We get you folks in from time to time." He reached for the spare keys hanging on a rusty nail. "Got a '98 Windstar or a '94 Impala."

"Impala," the boys answered together.

The yellow-green grin widened. "Thought ya might." He handed the keys over to Sam's waiting hand. "Grab whatcha need." The door from the office to the garage opened automatically, and he let them pass through. Bill limped behind Dean, pulling on the big doors that opened the back of the garage to the outside.

"Need any help?" Dean called over.

"Got it. I may be old, but I still got it. I'm big and strong."

"I just noticed," Dean gestured to the man's leg, "that you hurt your…foot."

"Nah. Besides, it's my leg, not my foot. Goddamn Addie shot me."

Dean's brows raised again. "She shot you?"

"Yeah." He pushed the last part of the door open and pointed to the '94 Impala. "Wasn't too bad, though. The time she stabbed me, well," he rubbed his oversized tummy, "that one took a little time to get over."

Sam had taken the opportunity Dean had given him to grab the duffels and ransack the trunk, picking and choosing their most important weapons to go into the gunnysack. He slung the bag over his shoulder and gripped the clothing duffels in his hands, then nodded his appreciation to Bill as he reached Dean. "Got the map?"

Dean patted his front pocket. "Both of them."

They walked through the back lot to the parked Impala. Dean's baby's cousin looked cold and dry, no character behind the silver hunk of metal.

Sam opened the front door and cracked a smile at his brother as a familiar groan greeted their ears. He hit the automatic locks and threw the duffels into the backseat.

"Can't cheat on my baby." Dean grinned and crawled into the passenger side.

"Hey!" Bill called out.

Dean's eyes flicked out the door as Sam turned around. A large snowflake fell to the ground, followed quickly by another. He sighed. _Great_. "Yeah?" they asked together.

"You guys got a gun, don't ya?"

Sam glanced at Dean. Hesitantly, he answered, "Yeah."

Bill waved as Addie joined him, Lemon Pie snug on her hip. "Watch out for the lions."

Dean stretched his body across the uncomfortable seat, his neck craning out Sam's door. "Come again?"

"Mountain lions! There's a mean one up there. Been attacking people!" Addie yelled back.

Sam and Dean exchanged a quick look.

"You know, cougars!" Bill hollered. "Lotsa them!"

Dean's eyes fell as his body dragged back across the seat, allowing Sam to slide in next to him.

"Shit," Dean huffed.

Sam shoved the key into the ignition; the engine turned over on the first try. They pulled out of the lot and onto to the desolate road just as the snow started to fall.

WWW

The mountainside was steep and rocky. It didn't matter how slow Sam drove up the damn thing, the Chevy was like a sled. The tires spun on black ice all the way up, then locked tight as they skidded down. The road turned and twisted, running into smaller hills and jamming into one-lane cliffs.

Dean's hand was pressed against the dashboard. The wipers slapped in a whumping rhythm that reminded Sam of a body falling to the ground, over and over again.

They'd passed Bette Davis, Jean Harlow, and Joan Crawford. Dean had tried to lighten the mood, offering his unsolicited opinion on whom he would sleep with and whom he wouldn't. "Do her. Doable. Psycho-bitch." A beat. "Yeah, I'd do her."

But as they reached each road, the next seemed to be farther away. A couple of miles between the first two, five miles before the next. They drove maybe eight or nine miles again before Sam saw Dean's finger pointing. "There. There's another one coming up."

Sam let his foot off the accelerator.

"Grace Kelly." Dean's mouth tightened. He let out a tense breath as Sam kept going. Then he grumbled, "I'd bag her."

Sam's eyes glided across the seat. He held his tongue and looked back at the road. The snow was coming down harder as the car crept up the mountain. Tiny pellets of ice soon joined the tapestry of white, and the Impala started making screeching sounds so as not to be left out.

"Ah, man, I don't think…" Dean let out a long sigh. "We're not gonna make it."

Sam kept driving. Kept his foot planted on the pedal. The next sign. The next sign would be Rita Hayworth. He readjusted his grip on the wheel and blinked a few times, trying to relax his eyes to the happenings outside. Shoulda just slept in big Willie's garage.

"I'm so tired of the goddamn snow," Dean's voice interrupted his thoughts.

Sam nodded. The Chevy shifted to the right. Sam easily brought it back over to the center of the lane.

"And the ice."

Yeah. Sam kind of got that as they slipped again, the tires on the box-on-wheels trying to stay on the road. Or wherever the road had disappeared to.

"Want some music on?"

Sam shook his head. His knuckles had turned white as he held fast to the wheel like it was going to fall off. His mouth was pulled into a terse frown, and he released a sound he hadn't used since he was a teenager. He remembered his brother had taken him out to teach him to drive. That time Sam had skidded down a muddy embankment after an Oklahoma rain. Dean hadn't even gotten mad at him. He'd coaxed him easily, almost soothingly, until Sam had been able to get the Impala out of the muck.

"Am I okay to keep talking or…" Dean paused.

"Keep talking."

"Okay." Dean nodded back. "This Impala kind of sucks."

"Sucks ass," Sam agreed, his hands relaxing a little.

Dean grinned. "Yeah, if we were in our car, we could've made it up the mountain an hour ago."

Our car. Had been Dad's. Then Dean's. Then Sam's. Ours. Sam's left hand dropped off the steering wheel. "We wouldn't have made it halfway up this hill with the Impala. The first bit of heavy snow, you would have made me drive her back down."

Dean let out a short laugh. "Probably." He looked out the window to his right, his hand cupping over the glass. "I think there's a cabin out there."

Sam took a quick glimpse. He didn't see anything. It didn't matter. He needed to concentrate on the road. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Dean nodded, turning back to Sam. "Maybe we're almost there."

God, that would be nice. "Is the cabin close?"

Sam waited as Dean calculated the distance of the twinkling lights. "No."

Sam couldn't help the release of the sigh he had been holding in. The driving was getting to him. His neck was stiff, so he rolled his shoulders and bobbled his head from side to side. He knew they couldn't just pull over and switch drivers, though. They'd never get going again.

"You okay?" Dean asked, his eyes steady in Sam's direction. "Want to just stop and sleep in the car tonight?"

Sam's neck craned in his brother's direction. "What? You're kidding me, right? It's like negative two outside! And I can barely fit in the Impala. I can't fit in this."

"We could've taken the minivan."

"Yeah, you in a minivan." He chuckled. "Besides, it wouldn't have made it a mile in this white crap."

Dean smiled. "We would've had to crawl back down."

"Still might."

Dean's smile turned into a toothy grin, glowing neon against the darkness of the car's interior. "Remember that time we were in New York? We were checking out a haunted house and…you were, like, I don't know, fourteen?"

Sam looked over, his eyes narrowing. "No."

"Sure you do," Dean insisted, opening his arms, eyebrows toggling. "We were living in that apartment above the porn shop."

Sam smiled then. His shoulders instantly relaxed, loosening at the thought of store-bought sex for free. "Yeah, outside of Buffalo?"

"Right." Dean nodded back. "Dad took us on one of his famous routine hunts. Remember? He thought it was just haunted by the dead mother, but—"

"The kids were haunting it, too."

"All nine of them."

"And they wanted to keep us off their yard…"

"So they started a fight with us."

Sam grinned. "A snowball fight."

"Dude, they totally wiped the ground with us."

"Well, yeah. There were nine of them!"

Dean started laughing, his shoulders shaking. "That one little girl had a hell of an arm." He looked over at Sam. "She chased you…"

Sam was laughing now, too. She had chased him. Ran him to the end of the snowy yard and then thought she could kiss him. Almost succeeded, too. If only she could have hung on to anything of human substance. Sam shook his head, letting the memory slowly burn away. Just like the kids had. He tried to refocus on the road, looking for signs, keeping the car moving. He reached up and wiped at his eyes, clearing them of the moisture that had happily collected there.

"Sam." Dean's voice was stern with a hint of panic.

Sam glanced over. His brother was sitting with his back against the door of the Impala, staring back, his eyes wide, his face pale. Sam smirked, his mouth ticked up in a worried, nervous smile. "What?"

"It's not a cougar."

Sam felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick away from his skin. His foot started to lift from the gas pedal, and his left hand slowly returned to the steering wheel. He turned his head to the front of the car, watching the snow fall in a chaotic frenzy. Palming the wheel to the left as the road started to bend, he skimmed his eyes over to the driver's side window.

It stared back.

"Go!" Dean yelled.

Sam pressed the accelerator harder than he'd intended. The tires couldn't keep their traction, spinning in circles as he tried to make it around the curve of the road.

It was running next to them, its body long and sleek, smooth like rubber. The skin was translucent, seeming to glitter like stars under the dark sky, large blue veins visible on its head.

"Faster!" Dean reached for the wheel as they rounded the corner.

Sam kept his foot on the gas, pressing his toe onto the tip at three-second intervals. He watched the odometer. Thirty-five miles per hour. Forty. Forty-five.

The eyes were still staring at him, large and bloodshot. Very, very human-like. Sam chanced a full-on look, his neck turning quickly. He eyed the creature as its long legs ran next to the car, its body not tiring. It didn't seem to mind the temperature of the snow or the treachery of the road. It apparently adapted well. Or maybe it was a local.

"Right!"

Dean's sharp warning brought his attention back to the road, and Sam turned the wheel. This turn was much harsher, more jagged, than the previous one when they were going forty. Now at forty-five—Sam glanced at the odometer—make that fifty miles per hour, the Impala didn't want to make it easy on them. It fishtailed, and Sam had to talk himself and the car through the snow. He could see his brother out of the corner of his eye, fastening his seatbelt and bracing himself with a hand on the dashboard.

"You buckled?"

Sam swallowed and pushed the accelerator a little more as they made it around the curve. His eyes skated to the left, only to see the unearthly freak of nature still there, still staring at him. And now he thought maybe, just maybe, it was grinning.

Probably knew a good joke they didn't.

In the edge of his vision, he saw the thing shift its body, then there was a loud thump. The Chevy pushed to the right, and Sam blinked hard as he steadied it back on the road.

"Jesus Christ!"

"What should we do?" Sam yelled over.

Dean's mouth twitched.

"Should I stop?"

"Why?"

"We could get out and shoot it." Sam glanced over.

His brother seemed to be contemplating that for a few seconds.

"Dean—"

Dean's finger pointed across Sam's chest. "Rita Hayworth! Rita Hayworth!"

Sam looked out the windshield, barely catching the road sign as it soared by them. The thing slammed its body into the side of the car again, edging the Impala farther over this time.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean shouted. "You missed the goddamn turn!"

Sam glared back at him. "What do you want me to do, Dean?"

There was a moment of silence where Sam tried to take in the oddity of the situation. His toe kept pushing on the gas, the snow kept falling from the sky, the '94 Impala kept trying to veer to the right, and the thing…the thing still stared.

"Roll down your window." Dean pulled his Colt out.

"You can't be serious."

Dean leaned forward, stretching his arms out in front of him, toward Sam's window. "I won't miss."

Sam shut his eyes for a brief second. He let his left hand drift to the console on the door. "It's gonna grab me."

"Not if I shoot it first." Dean swallowed.

Sam hit the automatic window button and immediately felt the change in temperature. The wind blew his hair back as the air lacerated his cheeks and cooled his sweaty forehead. His eyes squinted, watching the road as it turned to the left, the odometer's arrow pulling more to the right. Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine.

Dean pulled the hammer back. The creature's large eyes glistened as the window pulled down, its mouth spreading wide into a grotesque grin. It inched closer to the car and its mouth kept opening wider and wider.

Oh, God, Sam thought. It's going to swallow me whole. Dean couldn't miss. He felt his brother lean in closer, knowing his aim wasn't his best as they rocked and rolled along the mountainside.

"Move back," Dean whispered.

Sam complied, pushing his body against the seat until his back protested, giving his brother a better view of the creature.

The large, veined head froze while the rubbery body kept racing. Large, hollowed eye sockets opened ever wider as its pupils swung down like a slot machine, curiously eyeing the barrel of the gun pointed at it.

Dean didn't blink. He didn't move. But then the thing suddenly wasn't there anymore. "Where'd it go?" Dean asked, watching the side of the car.

Sam glanced over. "It's gone." He darted his head out the window, looking down. Just the snowy road.

**Bam!**

The Impala took a hard spin to the right. Sam fought with the wheel, pulling it back to the left.

"Damn!" Dean turned in his seat. "There!"

It was at the rear of the vehicle now, slamming its lanky body into the side of the trunk.

"Go faster, Sam!"

Sam pressed on the accelerator. He watched as the road disappeared up ahead into a wall of rocks. There, directly before it, was a sharp right turn. "Dean…"

"Go!"

_Thump. Thump._ **Wham!** The car pushed to the right as Sam let up on the gas and turned the wheel dangerously in the same direction. There was no way he could straighten it out. They were going sideways down the remainder of the road. Snow kicked up, most of it getting caught under the uncooperative wheels.

Dean reached over and pushed on the steering column as the trunk rocked from the earth and the creature, which was still pushing and prodding them. The Chevy made one last feeble attempt to stay on the road. There was a brief second where Sam had his hands on the wheel and thought maybe they had gained the upper hand.

Then the translucent skin was back at Sam's open window, hissing and breathing in his ear. Sam's eyes flicked over to its ravenous face, its eyes that wanted too much. The grin returned, and its long hands came up and pushed on the Impala's door.

There was a loud slam, but Sam couldn't register where it had come from. A crunch followed. The car funneled off the road and skidded to the right, down over the rocky barrier separating the pavement from the hazards below.

Up was down and down was up. The car tumbled too fast for Sam to tell what was right and what was wrong. He crashed into the driver's side door as it squished in. Glass shattered as his body slammed into Dean. The roof caved from above as his abdomen smashed into the steering wheel.

A loud, deafening pop was the last thing Sam heard as his body came to rest, the car settling on its roof, digging deep into the snow with an animalistic groan. He took a deep breath and really hoped the warm sticky moisture running down his chest was from the creature, not him.

The dark interior blurred his vision. Sam thought he saw the emblem of the Chevy gleaming back at him, and tried to stay with it, keep alert. But the next thing he knew, he was falling slowly backward in the dark, his brother's name on the tip of his tongue.

**Playlist: **

_Misty Mountain Hop_ (in reference to) performed by Led Zeppelin

_Flowers on the Wall_ performed by the Statler Brothers


	2. Can't Go Back

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One

**A/N:** Story will consist of four chapters. This chapter is dedicated to the mighty **Harrigan** who called me on the fact that the story is already written – so just post it already! Oh, and this chapter 'til the end contains one of my most favorite characters I've ever written in fanfiction land.

**Chapter Two: Can't Go Back**

Dean could still hear it.

The engine was humming, still trying to race them to safety. His eyes fluttered open for a brief second, and he realized he was upside down, still strapped in the confines of the seatbelt. His head was pounding, the blood rushing in a stream from one ear to the other. "Sam?" he managed to squeak out.

Nothing.

His eyes drifted to the left. His brother was there, crumpled in a messy lump of his own arms and legs. He hadn't been wearing a seatbelt. Dean swallowed, trying to work out more words, but they wouldn't come. The world was quickly dimming, tilting and spinning and taunting him with horrifying images he only saw when he dreamed.

Footsteps crunching in the snow brought him out of his haze. His lids were still heavy, and he tried to decipher how long he'd been out. If he was actually really awake now. The steps were closer, though, and Dean felt his heart skip, then speed up, his breath instantly slowing. He could try to play dead. Probably wasn't too far from it, anyway. There was a silence that followed, which felt like forever in another world where time stood still and heartbeats stuttered. A screech that sounded familiar filled his ears, like metal on metal, then a cold breeze hit his skin.

The door was opening.

_Oh, shit. It's gonna swallow me whole_.

Hands were on his body. He felt a pressure on his neck, then strong fingers gripped his shoulder. Whoever it was—whatever it was—was talking to him, almost soothing, as the fingers pressed into his flesh. He felt the seatbelt release, and his body fell clumsily to the snowy ground.

Dean blinked, thought he caught a silhouette. Hair. Brown, maybe. Words were filtering in and out. Some he recognized.

"Okay?"

He shook his head.

"Damn it."

He held his breath.

"…lucky."

What an ass. The Winchesters were never lucky. "Sam," Dean managed to say before the darkness covered him like a blanket.

www

It smelled like…fire. Which, for Dean Winchester, usually came with a fight-or-flight instinct. But this kind of fire felt warm. Nothing to be grabbing your loved ones into your arms and running away from. A wood-burning stove, or maybe just a fireplace. He wasn't sure, didn't really care as he pulled the blankets up, covering his shoulders, shimmying down into the sheets. His socked feet rubbed against one another and he breathed deeply.

There was an odd twang, though. Low and sappy against the background of the quiet. Music, he was sure, but… Was that Country? _What the hell is Sam playing?_

"Hey. You awake now?"

Dean's eyes flickered open. Smooth logged walls stared back at him.

_Car. Snow. Creature. Crash. _

_ Sam. _

Dean sat up in bed.

"Whoa."

There was a gentle push against his chest, but he didn't care. He started to toss the blankets aside. "Where's Sam?"

"Your buddy? He's right over there."

Dean followed a stubby finger over to the adjoining room. The other half of what was left of his family was sprawled out on a small sofa, long legs stretched over the side. There was a pile of towels stacked on the floor next to him, some bloody.

"He's hurt." Dean swung his feet over the side of the bed.

"Hold on a second." Hands were on his shoulders. "You just need to breathe for a minute. Your buddy's okay. He's a strong guy."

_Yeah, he's strong. And breakable, too_.

Dean glared, following the voice to find soft brown eyes staring back. Long eyelashes blinked at him and full cheeks pulled up as his rescuer smiled.

"You passed out on me when you tried to get up before," he said matter-of-factly. "I had to drag you to the bed."

The guy jumped off the step stool he had been standing on, and Dean was able to take in the small stature of the man. Definitely vertically challenged. Dean guessed him to be somewhere around four-foot-five. His arms and hands were small and pudgy, his torso normal size, but his legs seemed to have been sawed off in the middle before they were finished.

Dean raised his eyes. The little man met his stare, waiting as if he was half-expecting an insult to come falling out of Dean's mouth. As if he was prepared with a long list of comebacks to retaliate with. Dean felt a strange connection to the tension that rested on those broad shoulders. "You…got us out of the car?" he asked.

The brown hair bobbed. "Yeah."

Dean sighed, looking around the meager cabin. "How?"

"I pulled you out."

He looked back at him, trying not to show his disbelief. "You," he made a tugging motion with his hands, "pulled me out?"

The little guy nodded again.

"And then," Dean flicked his eyes to his brother, "you pulled him out?"

The man's neck swiveled as he glanced at Sam. Then he looked back at Dean, eyes set, and nonchalantly replied, "Yeah."

No matter which way Dean processed it, the math just didn't add up.

"I heard you guys roll off the mountain," the small man interrupted his thoughts. "You landed not far from my back porch. I started up the snowmobile and went out and got you. Brought you in first, and then your friend."

Dean's eyes wandered back over to Sam. He hadn't moved since Dean had sat up. "My brother."

The small man nodded. "Oh. His name's Sam?" He gave a small shrug. "You called it out a few times."

Dean's brows drew close, and he felt his cheeks heat up for a quick second. "Yeah." He cleared his throat. "I'm Dean."

The man extended his miniature, chubby hand. "Nice to meet you. Name's Lucky McGiven."

Dean reached out, shook his hand. It felt strange, not like a child's, not like an adult's. "Lucky?"

A sigh. "Ironic, I know." He started walking back into the living area. "Your brother appears to have been shot."

Dean stood, immediately alert. He followed Lucky quickly, easily passing him. "What? Where?"

Lucky pointed to Sam's shoulder. "It's pretty high up. Hit his neck."

Dean sank to his knees and pulled the towel back. The bullet had grazed Sam's collarbone and torn through the skin on his neck, but hadn't lodged there. It had traveled on, leaving behind a fleshy trail in its wake. Blood oozed from deeper wounds in small trickles, trailing down his neck. Dean released his breath. Sam would make it. Just another scar to add to his collection. "You got anything to dress this? Any gauze or tape?"

"They keep first-aid kits in all the cabins, but they're on the top shelf in the kitchen cabinet and…" Lucky's voice trailed off. His shoulder moved up and down in an indifferent shrug.

Dean stood. Apparently, the cabins weren't built to be compatible for midg—little people. "Okay. You did a good job with the towels. Uh, you want to clean this up a little and I'll get the kit?"

Lucky traded places with him, clearing off some of the dried blood on Sam's shoulder. "You older?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah." He walked to the kitchen.

"Thought so." The little man's voice was gentle again. "I get that vibe from you."

Dean looked up. Geez, the cabinets were way up there. He grabbed one of the wooden chairs from the kitchen table and positioned it next to the counter top. There was a white letter set neatly on the Formica with the simple words scrawled across the front: _To be opened upon my death._ Dean frowned at the sealed envelope. _Okay, random_. "I have a vibe?" Dean asked after a second, the man's words finally sinking in.

There was a pause. "Well, yeah. When I found you, though, I wasn't sure. Your brother was driving."

Dean opened the cabinet. "Yahtzee." He gripped the plastic box tightly and hopped off the chair and suddenly realized Lucky had still been talking. "What?"

"I just wasn't sure. I'm so use to older brother's being bossy, insisting on driving. That's why I thought maybe you were friends."

Dean opened the box and looked inside. "Car's a loaner." As though that was an acceptable answer. He rummaged through the contents quickly. "You got any scissors?"

Another short pause. "Should be some in the second drawer of the counter."

Dean opened the second drawer, pushing around the junk that had collected in there. "You got…any family?" Tape. Batteries. Paperclips.

"Not really." Vague. "My parents are dead. I had a brother, but…"

No scissors. Dean shut the drawer and opened the top one.

"Anyway, I was older. I guess that's why I got the vibe from you."

A gun. It was a Colt Anaconda .44 Magnum. Next to it were two bullets, both nestled in black cushions. One was gold, the other silver. Both special. Definitely custom-made.

No scissors, though.

"Uh…" Dean hedged, his fingers caressing the cool smoothness of the weapon. It was nice. "Your brother…was he…you know…?"

An uncomfortable pause. Dean shut the drawer and glanced behind him.

Lucky was still at Sam's side, finishing the cleansing. "What? Like me?"

Dean didn't really know what he was asking, was just trying to keep the guy talking. "Okay. I guess." He opened the third drawer.

"Yeah." Lucky's voice was sharp. "He had brown hair, too."

Dean winced. Wrong move. He started to turn around to say something that would sound less jerk-like, when his eyes snagged on the silver shears.

Clutching the first-aid kit and the prized scissors, Dean walked back into the living area. He looked down at the smaller guy leaning across his brother's long body. The proportions were way too off to not make him smirk, but the little man's fingers were moving diligently, cleaning Sam's neck. He looked like a pro standing there, like any good big brother would. Dean's eyes softened. "Hey, man…"

Lucky glanced up. "My brother was normal size," he answered without letting Dean get in a word of explanation or apology. "My whole family was normal." Lucky moved to the left, making room for Dean. "Except for me."

Dean started to dry Sam's wound. Lucky had done a decent job of cleaning it out. He gently patted the towel over the ripped flesh and let it absorb the pink sludge that ran out, then grabbed the meager suture kit and prepped the needle with the alcohol. "Damn. We're gonna make a mess in here."

Lucky pulled dirty towels away and replaced them with clean ones. He positioned a cool, damp cloth over Sam's forehead. Dean never even had to ask. "It's okay," he answered. "I was just renting the place for the week. Wasn't planning on getting my security deposit back on it anyway."

"So," Dean began, his eyes on the needle as he slid it into Sam's flesh. He started with the worst area, since there was probably only enough thread for five or six stitches.

"So…" Lucky prompted.

"You're up here alone?" He could feel the gentle eyes on him, following him.

"Uh-huh."

Dean waited, concentrating on his work.

"I needed to…" The guy's hand reached across and dabbed at a drop of blood. "…tie up some loose ends. Family business." He handed Dean a two-by-two square of gauze and some antibacterial cream, his stubby finger pointing to the stitches. "You might want to, you know…"

Dean took the tube, opened it, and smeared an ample amount over the sutures. The little guy was a surprisingly big help. Dean's mouth quirked up. The little guy. Midgets. Dwarfs. Elves. Garden gnomes. Dean had never been overly PC about vertically challenged people. He glanced down. "I don't mean to offend you or anything, but," he took the gauze that was being handed him, "should I call you a… I mean, do you…" He released a hot breath. "What should I call you?"

"Well," tape was being ripped off and fingers were splayed in front of him, long pieces attached so Dean could access them easily, "I prefer to be called Lucky."

The wound was almost completely dressed, all without Sam making a peep. Dean looked over at his assistant and smiled. "Okay, then." He looked back at his brother and tapped Sam's pale cheek beckoning the younger man out of his trauma-induced slumber.

It was only when the white was securely fastened and the last of the tape applied that his brother yielded to him. Dean's grin widened Christmas-big as his brother's eyelashes fluttered in response.

"Rise and shine, Sammy."

www

Something had happened. The car had crashed. Something had seen him. His sluggish eyes focused through the blurred edges, and he saw his brother smiling down at him. "Dean."

Memory intact. Check.

He looked over at the stranger in the flannel shirt who was sitting next to his brother.

There was a quick wave followed by a small smile. "Hi."

Sam squinted back. "Hi." He looked back at Dean as he weakly attempted to push himself up on his elbows. The room seemed to spin sideways and he shut his eyes to still the motion.

A little hand extended, pressing on his shoulder. "Just wait."

Sam licked his lips and swallowed hard, waiting for the wave of nausea to pass.

"This is Lucky," Dean introduced their new friend.

Sam only smiled, not making any comment about the name or anything else notable about the small man. He noticed the hair, the eyes, the age: probably in his mid-thirties. Seemed nice enough. He pushed himself up again, his elbows supporting his weight this time. "We crashed the car." He scrubbed his forehead.

Dean backed away. "No, _you_ crashed the car. _I_ was just an innocent passenger."

Sam planted his feet on the floor, then reached up to rub at his sore shoulder. The pain from his neck rippled down and he dropped his hand immediately, realizing that was a mistake. He still wasn't sure exactly what had happened or why his shoulder was bandaged. The confused look he shot his brother hopefully said it all.

"I think the gun went off," Dean said hesitantly.

"Went off?" Sam looked up sharply.

"When we were…rolling down the hill, I think the gun went off."

"You shot your brother?" Lucky piped up next to them. He sounded horrified and amused at the same time.

Sam narrowed his eyes.

"No," Dean scoffed. "I must've let go of the gun during the commotion. It went off during…everything." It was a flimsy answer, but everything had happened so fast. It was the only scenario that made sense to him.

"Why'd you have a gun?"

Dean looked at Sam, and Sam looked back.

"Cougars," they answered together.

"Oh. The cougars." Lucky watched them. "Yeah, they say there's a rabid one out there. Been killing some of the folks in town. I heard it got a kid."

Twin heads nodded back.

Lucky stood up, his eyes hitting level with first Sam, then Dean. "Did you see one?"

Sam stared at him, thinking back to the large, hungry eyes, the gaping maw that had seemed intent on swallowing him whole. "We saw something."

The little man's head tilted. "Yeah, but it wasn't a cougar."

Sam shrugged a look at his brother before he shook his head. "No."

Lucky walked away from them. He fumbled inside his suitcase, pushing clothes out of the way, looking for something. "What did it look like?"

"It was ugly," Dean supplied.

"Ugly? Like human, but not?"

_Yeah, like that_. Sam shuddered. "Its body looked kind of human."

"But its skin was smooth," Dean added. "And it ran really, really fast."

Sam looked over at Dean. "Its eyes were huge."

Dean looked back. "And its mouth." He paused. "Its mouth could stretch."

Lucky had turned around, his eyes shifting between them. He quietly walked back and handed over a picture. "Look like this?"

Dean took the snapshot from his pudgy hands and looked at it. His brows bunched over the bridge of his nose as he handed it to Sam.

Sam studied it. It was a picture of a regular guy. Dark hair. Hazel eyes. Nice looking enough. Nothing gross about him. Nothing odd. He looked normal.

Sitting next to him was Lucky, his small arm wrapped around the guy's back. They were smiling at the camera.

Sam started to hand the picture back, then cautiously brought it back again, gazing at the man's face. Closer. There was something familiar there. Not in the face or even in the eyes, but behind the eyes. There was something underneath the layer of skin and sclera that felt monstrous.

"What?" Dean asked, leaning over to look at the picture again.

Sam shook his head. "I don't know." He handed it back to Lucky.

"Give you a vibe?" the little man asked, looking back at the image.

Sam shot a look at him. "What we saw, it couldn't be him. I mean, not him in _that_ form."

"Yeah, but without the hair and the smile?"

Sam shrugged. There was something off about the guy in the photo. "Maybe."

Lucky turned away, walking back to his suitcase. He tucked the picture back into a pouch and zipped it up.

"Who is that?" Dean asked.

The little man stilled as he looked at them over his shoulder. "My brother."

www

Hank Williams, Jr., was belting out a song over Lucky's CD player. It was low and soft, but the fact that it was Hank Williams, Jr., made it sound so much louder and worse than it was. It could make headphones bleed.

_Lordy, I have loved some ladies,_

_ and I have loved Jim Beam,_

_ and they both tried to kill me in 1973_.

"Lucky?" Dean finally spoke after taking a drink of the hot chocolate the little man had made. "I don't mean to diss your tunes, but you got anything with a beat?"

Lucky sipped at his drink and pulled back with a smile. "Yeah, I think I got something you might dig."

Dean watched him move to the player. Country music, hot chocolate, and a little person. He let out a breath and looked over at Sam. His brother looked pale. Dean had pulled the blanket over Sam's shoulders, hoping it would trap some warmth in. Sam took a gulp of the hot drink, pushing the marshmallows Dean had insisted on back under the hot liquid with his finger.

The beginning of _Turn the Page_ kicked in, and Dean settled back next to his brother on the small sofa. Now that was music they could talk to.

"Tell us about your brother," Dean addressed Lucky as he leaned forward in his chair.

Lucky sat down in a wooden straight-backed chair, pushing himself onto the seat with his built-up shoes. He turned his small body toward them and swung his legs as he spoke.

"Didn't start with my brother." He released a small laugh. "I don't even know where the hell it started. What I do know is my grandfather on my mother's side was part of the Navajo Indian tribe." He smiled sadly. "He married my grandmother when she was just fifteen. Her family was very poor and could barely feed the six kids they had, so they let her marry…and then never saw her again." His smile faded, and he took a few quick sips from his mug. "My grandmother gave birth to a boy and girl, and then one day she left with the kids and never came back."

Lucky paused as a mournful saxophone filled the void.

_Well, you walk into a restaurant_,

Dean's eyes followed as he noticed he and Sam were leaning in,

_Strung out from the road_,

ears listening intently,

_You feel the eyes upon you_,

hazel scanning the room,

_As your shaking off the cold_,

watching Lucky,

_You pretend it doesn't bother you_,

touching on each other.

_But you just want to explode_.

"Why?" Sam asked. "Why did she run?"

"I don't know, exactly. But now, I would have to guess because she saw things that weren't normal. She probably saw her husband display certain…traits…she wasn't accustomed to. So she left and stayed wherever she could find a bed, raised the kids, didn't stay in one place for too long. Always looking over her shoulder, afraid one day he'd find them. But the kids grew up and went their own ways. My grandmother ended up dying from emphysema, of all things. Completely normal." Lucky paused a few seconds. "My mother was her daughter. My uncle…well, he died a long time ago. I guess a wild animal attacked him. My mother never got over his death. All those years of running, the two of them had gotten really close." Lucky stopped and cleared his throat. "My mom married, though, and had my brother and I."

"You and your brother were close?" Sam asked.

Lucky raised sad eyes. He nodded. "We were. And then…"

Sam waited. "What?"

A shoulder hitched. "Then he became the monster under my bed."

Dean shifted. He wanted to look over at Sam and see the trust staring back, but he couldn't. He couldn't take the chance of seeing the truth in what his brother's eyes might really reveal to him.

"What happened?" Sam asked, keeping his eyes on the little guy.

"What happened?" Lucky chuckled. His voice sounded tight, like something was stuck. "One day my brother shows up at my door. He's covered in paint. Black and white stripes all over his face, all over his body." He looked away. "Said our dead grandfather had sought him out. Taught him some tricks."

"Tricks?" Dean's eyebrows inched higher.

"That's what he called them. He showed up every night at my door painted like that for four nights. It was weird. He said he was involved in some kind of initiation."

Sam's body stiffened. "A skinwalker? Was your grandfather a skinwalker?"

The little man swallowed. His small hands reached over to the side table and exchanged the hot chocolate for a cigarette. A tremble teased at his fingers. "That's what he claimed. Said he was a shimmer. I didn't believe it. I thought it was just some kind of Navajo mojo. Some bedtime story to scare little kids into being good. I didn't think that kind of shit was real." The flame from the lighter set his lips aglow momentarily and he inhaled quickly, taking in the first dynamic effects of the tobacco.

Sam looked over at his brother, his brows raised. Dean matched his expression. Everyone always said the same damn thing.

"My brother transformed over those four days. Became less himself each time I saw him. And then Ginny…" The music changed, and Seger was starting in on _Still the Same_.

Dean sighed. "Who's Ginny?"

Lucky stared at him like he had said the name wrong. Or maybe he'd said it right. He wasn't sure; the little guy was hard to read, and it made Dean squirm.

Lucky's chest expanded and retracted a few times, blowing smoke left, then right, before he asked, "You ever see a person die?"

Dean leaned in closer. Now _this_ could be a story worth hearing.

Lucky looked up, dismissed Dean and his intrigued eyes, and shifted his gaze to Sam.

Sam looked back, directly at the man. He nodded slightly.

"Who was it?" Lucky pressed.

Dean's head whipped to his brother, who was fixated on the friendly stranger across from them.

"Some guy," Sam whispered.

"You didn't know him?"

Sam shook his head.

Lucky nodded. "How old were you?"

Sam's eyes went from the floor to the ceiling in one swift movement. He blew away a breath. "Eleven."

"Holy shit." Lucky's voice found the volume button, turned it up a couple of notches.

Dean didn't look at the man, though. He stayed with Sam, knowing immediately what his brother was talking about. It wasn't just any person he had seen die. It was the first person Sam had ever seen die.

"What happened?"

Sam's gaze slid over to Lucky. "Um…me and Dean…and our dad were…hiking."

_Hunting_, Dean's mind corrected.

"Here, actually. In Oregon. We were camping near the Steens." Sam's lashes were low to his cheeks, shading his eyes. "And, you know, he was just some guy who was on the mountain with us."

Dean watched Sam's profile. _The guy had been looking for his kid_.

Sam's forehead wrinkled. "He was running. He was scared of something."

"What was it?"

A long swallow. Hard and dry. "A…bear."

_A Lamia_, Dean remembered. Never seen one before. Hadn't seen one since.

Lucky waited. "And?"

"And," Sam blinked a few times, "it pushed the guy off a cliff."

"Did it eat him?"

Sam shook his head. "No. It wasn't interested in adults, just kids. Smaller to catch, I guess."

Dean took in a deep breath. _It swallowed kids whole…_

"What happened next?"

Sam's eyes skimmed over to Dean. "I don't remember very well." He looked back at the little guy across from them. "Our dad shot it. Killed it."

Lucky gazed across the small living room. He looked at each of them, one at time, like he knew there were missing pieces. Then he nodded once and continued with his own story. "Ginny was my wife." He scooted to the edge of the chair, his cigarette stub held loosely between two fingers. "We were married for…four years and she was…" He stopped, looked around the room, his eyes catching on an old wooden cross. "She had this crooked smile." His hand waved across his face. "Her teeth didn't match up right, and she was short." He looked at Dean. "Not my kind of short, your kind of short. She was only five foot and had this long wavy blonde hair. When she'd get out of the shower, she smelled…she smelled perfect."

Dean caught Sam's hand moving out of his periphery. His brother was wiping at his forehead like something had just dripped on him. Dean swallowed hard, knew there were things that would always haunt Sam and things that no matter what he did, Dean would never be able to fix.

Lucky sucked on the cigarette for a few beats. "But she didn't trust my brother. Hadn't for a while. I guess he'd been changing before that, subtle, small things on the inside. I just hadn't noticed until it attacked him physically. Maybe I just didn't want to see it. I don't know. It's all kind of a blur now."

Dean took a deep breath. He felt his skin heat up and his face flush at Lucky's words. His gaze fell to the floor.

"I guess," the little man's voice shook, "to complete the…transformation, a shimmer has to…"

Dean waited a moment before lifting his head and prodding, "Kill someone?"

A nod as the smoke surrounded his head. "Yeah. He couldn't kill me, but I guess Ginny was more his taste."

Sam's eyes shot over. "Your brother killed your wife?"

Lucky frowned back. "He devoured her."

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room as the music played on, the beat getting tripped up between double and trouble and there was no way now for Dean to find any solace in it.

"What was your brother's name?" Dean asked, his eyes watching Sam's knee bouncing nervously.

"Harley." Lucky's soft eyes batted away, taking long eyelashes with them. He looked off into the stillness of the room. "He was a good brother. I just wasn't fast enough."

Dean watched the little man struggle in his own skin. "Fast enough?"

"Yeah." Lucky's eyes wandered back over. "To save Ginny. To save Harley. I just wasn't fast enough. Never have been."

Dean's eyes flicked from Lucky to Sam. He watched as his brother studied the small man, his eyes borrowing words, sinking them into secret vaults. Places where Dean wasn't allowed to go and he couldn't help but wonder when it all started to change. When had he missed it? Dean told himself it had happened while he was in Hell, but really? Those were just words to soothe his soul. He knew it had been happening before. He'd seen the signs. Now if he could only stop time and find the crack. Patch it up and make it whole again. But that had been when they were on borrowed time, and that time had been long spent.

"So, a shimmer?" Sam asked, leading Lucky gently to the point. "Do you know how to…stop it?"

Lucky stamped the butt of the cigarette out on the smooth wood of the tabletop. "Yep." He blew the last of the smoke out his nose and jumped off the chair. "You kill it." He walked into the kitchen and pulled open the top drawer, removing his Colt and fumbling with the soft cushions the ammunition lay on. "With a gold-plated bullet."

Sam took the cartridge from him as he made his way back into the room.

"One hit in the chest and—boom!" Lucky slapped his hands together. "Down it comes."

Sam examined the bullet and handed it back. "Is that why you're up here, Lucky?"

The brown eyes hardened as he loaded the weapon. "This is where it changed my life." He turned away again, his words like a blade. "Our anniversary. I was sleeping, went to bed early. Ginny was…" He pointed to where Dean was seated. "Ginny was right there. Reading a book. Stephen King." He laughed. "She heard a noise and woke me up, and I told her she was just scaring herself and to come to bed." He waited, swallowing. "But she didn't. She kept reading and he—it—came right in through the door. Tore her head off her shoulders."

Dean blinked at the man. "God." He glanced over to his brother and back again. "Lucky, I'm…"

"She was six months pregnant."

That shut him up pretty damn fast.

_Don't apologize, don't say you're sorry for things you can't control_. That had been what John Winchester had taught his boys_. Look out for one another, get the big bad wolf, and don't get attached to the little people._

Dean didn't loose the irony at the thought.

Lucky clenched his left hand into a fist. His breathing accelerated and his round face flushed different shades of red. "My brother," his words rattled as they were released, "took my life away. My brother," his chest filled and emptied, "became something I have to hunt down."

Time seemed to freeze. Dean couldn't move. Words spoken in anger and fear playing back in the hidden caves of his mind. Missing beats and skipping truths, until he questioned his own interpretation of what had happened. How it had happened. When it had happened. How the hell he was going to stop it and make things better again.

_If I didn't know you, I would want to hunt you_.

Dean closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He couldn't take back what he'd said. His eyes opened slowly. But that didn't have to be his future, didn't have be his ending.

It didn't have to be Sam's.

"I gotta kill it." Lucky laid his cards on the table.

Dean looked at the little man, his jaw hardened. He noticed Sam's determined gaze following, his eyes moist. Dean nodded in silent understanding.

"How do you want to do this?" Dean couldn't keep the huskiness out of his voice.

Lucky shrugged. "I figure we just go out there and let him smell lunch."

_-TBC, Tomorrow-_

**Playlist:**

_Family Tradition_ performed by Hank Williams, Jr.

_Turn the Page_ performed by Bob Seger

_Still the Same_ (in background) performed by Bob Seger


	3. Words Fall

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter One

**A/N:** Thanks for all the reviews thus far! You kids really know how to make a girl's day… Only one more chapter after this one - it's a short hunt!

**Chapter Three: Words Fall**

"You know, for a little guy, he's kind of Rambo meets Riggs." Dean tugged on his charcoal jacket, watching as his brother tried to pull on his own.

Sam struggled against his flesh wound, face scrunching up into a painful mess of curse words and stress lines. "What do you mean?" he finally managed to grit out.

Dean walked closer, rough hands grabbing at Sam's left sleeve and steadying it as Sam forced his hand into the armhole.

Sam breathed a huff of satisfaction that the small feat was accomplished… with help from his older brother. He looked over and caught Dean's eyes for a moment. "Th—"

"I mean…" Dean walked back to his mark, almost two arms distance. Far enough to give Mr. Bigger, Better, Faster, Stronger the space he needed. Far enough where he'd be no good in catching him if he fell, either. If he was holding Sam back, there'd be no reason to hold Sam up, either. Dean told himself it didn't matter. He didn't really believe himself, but at least he could give the impression it didn't matter. "He has two bullets for that Colt. The other one's silver, handmade. And he's got a letter written out in the kitchen." He watched as Sam tried to zip up his jacket. "It looks like his will."

Sam's fingers slipped about halfway up the zipper. "And?"

Dean sighed. "And…I'm just saying, he wants to come along. He wants to kill his brother…"

"The shimmer."

"He wants to kill the shimmer, has a gold bullet ready to mark the occasion. But what's he going to do with the other one? The silver bullet? He told me himself that he was only renting this place a week." He stared hard at Sam. "And that he wasn't planning on getting his security deposit back."

Sam got the zipper all the way up. Bundled and ready. He reached his hands into his pockets and started to pull out his gloves. "So, you think he's going to take down the shimmer and then, what? Kill himself?"

Dean tilted his head. Did it sound that crazy? When he really thought about it, it wasn't too far off from what he was planning on doing if he ever had to kill Sam. If it came down to it. And, …God…let it not have to come down to it. "Yeah. That's what I think."

Sam nodded back. "We can't stop him from coming with us."

Dean shook his head. They had already tried, and Lucky was impossible to get through to. He had agreed to take them back down to the Impala so they could get the duffels they had left behind. Then, he had agreed to let _them_ come along with _him_ to hunt the shimmer down. And there was no way, no way, he was letting anyone touch his Colt with the magical gold-plated bullet but him.

Of all the thick-headed—

"I don't know," Sam thought out loud, "maybe it's better he be with us."

"Keep an eye on him."

"Make sure the damn thing gets killed."

"And then figure out a way for Lucky to…"

Sam's mouth twitched. "Find a reason to live." His voice softened, holding an ache that was too difficult to hide.

Dean stared back, eyes not really on his brother, just skimming his face. "Yeah, that."

Sam's brows raised. "Okay. Well, let's do this."

WWW

The trio walked out into the cold night. Sam had been right; it was about negative two outside. The temperature had changed from freezing to frigid. The snow was still falling in a frenzied, chaotic dance, heavy and wet and sticking to lashes, and drying lips on contact.

Dean tagged along after Lucky and Sam, watching from a safe distance. Originally, he had wanted to call his brother on hunting injured. Prior to Hell… hell, prior to Dad's death, there had been rules that were not to be broken. Hunting injured was a rule you didn't disobey. It was not tolerated. At least, it hadn't been for Sam.

Dean picked up the pace. Lucky had fallen back behind Sam and was now sandwiched between them. Hunting with a midg—a little person. They hadn't made a rule about that one. Yet. Of course, those days were also lost in Dean's translation. Not sure when the rules had changed, when they had stopped abiding by them. When he had stopped enforcing them.

Being the older brother wasn't what it used to be.

"Go up this hill," Lucky was calling to Sam. "The car's on the other side." He took in a deep breath and let out a series of coughs. Cold air and cigarettes. He cleared his throat hard. "Car's lying at the bottom."

Dean could see Sam nodding his head. He'd caught it, though. The long legs were stronger than the small, but the pull from the neck and shoulder was slowing his brother down.

Lucky was catching up again. "You okay, man?" The little guy looked up at Sam as he sidled up beside him.

Dean's eyes followed Sam's head as his brother looked down. Sweat dampened his face, forming dark tented bangs along his forehead, his skin ashen under the dark sky. Except for his cheeks, which were splattered with red, blotchy spots.

"Sam?" Dean called ahead.

Sam looked away.

Dean swallowed. His eyes shut for a brief second.

_You're too weak. You're holding me back. _

He opened his eyes again and watched Sam sway against the piling snow. He'd be okay.

_I'm a better hunter than you are. _

He didn't need Dean's hand.

_Stronger. _

Didn't need Dean checking on him.

_Smarter. _

Didn't need Dean at all.

_Boo-hoo._

Dean gulped down the rising bile in his throat and tried not to notice as Sam righted himself.

"There it is!" Lucky shouted, his flashlight beaming over the snow, down the hill to the icy bottom.

Dean trudged up next to Sam and stopped at the top of the mound. There was the '94 Impala, on her roof, wheels topside, obscured in snow. The path the car had followed was long covered up, glass and metal parts buried in the white. She was broken and mangled, cold and dead.

"Shit," Sam breathed. "Wilfred's gonna kill us."

Dean shook his head. "Addie's the one with the rap sheet, dude."

Lucky glanced over his shoulder as he started down the hill. "All we have to do is cross the pond, and you can get whatever you need." His short legs started his clumsy descent.

Dean's eyes ventured over to his brother. "Did he just say we have to cross a pond?"

Sam glanced back. "Must be frozen over."

"Hey, Lucky," Dean started down after him, "is there another way around?"

The charcoal-colored hood protecting the dark head turned in Dean's direction. "Man, I already pulled you across the damn thing earlier today and you survived. And that was with the snowmobile." He kept his tempo. "We'll make it across a second time. Besides, it's gotten colder."

Dean could only smile back, his face stuck in an all too familiar falsehood. But Lucky seemed confident, and right now, that was all Dean had to go on. In all honesty, his mind was still stuck on that car. His eyes followed up the rocky terrain from where they had plummeted. It was amazing they had both survived, and with only grazes and scratches. Dean had had help from the seatbelt, but Sam?

Sam had made it down a treacherous cliff, rolling and tumbling in a mangled car without the need of a safety harness. The Colt had skimmed his neck. Just a few stitches, nothing broken, nothing really even bruised. Dean's eyes snaked across the small divide between him and his brother.

An odd coincidence, or survival of the fittest?

"What am I, the tortoise?" Lucky yelled over his shoulder. "You goddamn bunnies need to get hopping!"

If anyone held any reservations about crossing the pond once they were on flat ground, it didn't matter anymore. There was no way to differentiate between land and frozen water. The snow's crunch didn't change; the earth below felt the same. It wasn't until all three of them had made it to the lifeless car, fingertips touching the metal, that Dean started breathing again.

"Okay." Dean's head darted through the open passenger door. The weapons duffel had fallen far from his reach, settling under the rear window. There was no way of getting either of the locked and iced back doors open. That left Dean just one option. He grunted, pushing clothes that had spilled from his own person duffel out of the way. "It's gonna," he started crawling under the seat, "take me a…minute."

He could hear his brother and Lucky talking on the other side of the vehicle, words thick and baritone. He knew when his brother was speaking, knew when Lucky was up. Even though he couldn't tell what they were saying, Dean knew when Sam was trying to lighten things, knew when he was being more serious. Knew when he was lying, and when he was talking about Dean.

Sam couldn't hide everything.

Dean slid the zipper open and reached into the duffel. His gloved hands fumbled over guns and knives, thinking about which weapons would be best to take with them. Where what could be concealed and carried without dragging them down. His hand gave a quick shake, a shudder, maybe. He could feel the weight of his silver flask pressing on his chest through his inner pocket. He needed a drink.

_You're holding me back. I can take out demons you're too scared to go near. _

He had stared at his brother back then. Told him it was a load of crap. Wished Sam would just shut the fuck up and stop telling the truth.

Dean shut his eyes inside the substandard, newer version of his own car, and let out a frustrated sigh.

Then the hair on his neck stood on end.

Dean's eyes rolled to the right. There was a glimpse of a shadow passing by. Hard to tell what it was without being able to see through the windows. Without being able to see… "Sam!" Dean's voice echoed in the cabin of the Chevy.

"Yeah?"

He could hear his brother moving, his boots kicking through snow and clomping on the ground. Dean grabbed his sawed-off and starting digging for salt rounds. He picked up the Bowie along the way, and shoved a spare .45 in his waistband. He wondered aimlessly about his Colt; it must be somewhere on the roof of the car, which was now underneath him…

"Sam?" he called again, but this time he was greeted with scuffling. There was a knock against the outside of the car. Dean turned and started under the seat again, the salt rounds clutched in his hand, when the knock became a thump. He grabbed hold of the headrest as the car started moving. It groaned and grumbled as it scraped across the snow, taking Dean with it.

He could hear his brother on the outside of the car, shouting, "Hey!" and, "Come on!"

Dean held his breath as the movement stopped and the car shook and quivered to a halt. He pushed himself back to the passenger door and kicked it open with his foot, sending the door falling to the ground.

There stood Sam a few feet away, enticing the creature to him. His arms were spanned wide as he was slowly walking away from the wreckage, yelling at the shimmer. "I'm right here! You want it?"

Dean scrambled out of the car, the snow still falling from the blackness above, forcing his eyes to squint to get a good look at his brother. Movement to the right caught his eye, and he glanced over to find Lucky, Colt held in front of his small body, a tremble visible at the barrel. They only had one shot. Lucky had to be pretty damn lucky.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered. Sam was drawing the shimmer away from its brother. Away from the only person who could take it down, giving Lucky a golden opportunity to kill it fast, without the pressure of being charged or attacked.

Of course, that was the big problem. Lucky suddenly wasn't so lucky. It didn't matter if the creature was standing right in front of him, motionless, or charging until it turned red. Lucky felt a pressure beyond the monster. He felt the love of his family.

Sam kept his eyes on the shimmer as it quickly forgot about the car and focused its attention on him. Its nose turned into the air once and only once, taking a whiff of the iron it smelled through the falling flakes. Large round eyes grazed over Sam's neck, seeking and finding hints of white gauze sticking out of the collar of his jacket. A long, wet tongue licked dry lips, and the glittery rubber skin seemed to light up as it sprinted toward him.

Dean's jaw shook, and he felt a pang, something sucker punched him deep inside, beyond his ribs, his lungs and heart. He felt the hit so hard, it made his teeth clatter and his breath exit. It made his heart stutter. He needed to go to Sam. He needed to reach out and grab his brother. He needed to be needed.

And he wanted Sam to want that.

Sam's eyes widened as the thing that had once been Lucky's brother increased its speed. Dean raised his sawed-off in front of him, catching his brother's gaze as it landed on him over the creature's body. Sam's pupils were dark in the gray of night, narrowed in warning. Dean swallowed the request down where Sam couldn't touch it. He knew his brother was asking him to stop, that he didn't need him racing to the rescue. Sam had it under control.

Dean fired the sawed-off anyway, hitting the shimmer square in the back, and it stumbled on two legs, its arms flailing like a windmill, trying to find purchase and landing gnarled fingers deep in Sam's jacket.

"What happened?" Lucky called over.

"Sam!" Dean started running, but it was like trying to run through sand. One step forward, another step back. He was going as fast as he could, but it wasn't fast enough.

_I just wasn't fast enough. Never have been… _

www

The shimmer wasted no time as it shoved Sam down, its mouth opening wide, distorting its facial features and losing all human appeal. He could hear its bones and cartilage separate in a sickening series of pops. It morphed, quickly twisting and clawing its way into a monster.

A monster that was going to swallow him whole.

Sam pushed against its chest, his hands shoving into ribs that pulled apart, lungs that didn't expand, his fingers wrapping around a heart that no longer beat. He panted and spat, tried to move away from the mouth that was too wide as it glided up his body until its face was perched on top of Sam's head. He could feel his hair move from the long, hot breaths it took as its lips started to curl around his skull. There was a painful sucking motion against his forehead, and he could feel it start to swallow, his head pulled into its throat…

"Dean," Sam whispered. It sounded like a beg and Sam instantly regretted the weakness he heard hidden in his voice, but a shot rang out and he felt his heart hit his ribcage. Dean was there… Dean was there…

www

Dean knocked off another shot, missing his target and causing one slug to sink into the snow. He pulled the revolver from his waistband and hit the creature again, this time in the leg.

It didn't even flinch. It just kept swallowing. Panic raised inside him. There were too many legs and arms squirming to keep his target in sight. If he couldn't decipher it in the black of the night, how the hell was Lucky going to hit anything?

"You got a clear shot?" Dean yelled over his shoulder as he turned and started toward the little guy. Dean fired, missing again. Another bullet wasted into the ground below.

Lucky had been trying to keep up with Dean, but there was just too much snow. He was wading through white that was up to his waist, not even able to lift a leg any longer. "I don't…"

Dean hit the shimmer again. "Now!"

He was almost to Lucky when the man raised the Colt. Dean could see him take in a lungful of air, could see the quake of the gun. He cursed silently as he saw Lucky shut his eyes.

Dean shot another round, trying to hit the shimmer enough to knock it off balance and get it away from Sam. It was too close to call, even for him. "Son of a… Shoot it!"

He heard the bang as the bullet blasted from its chamber. Dean watched the gold tip smack into the right side of the shimmer's chest, and it rolled off Sam. There was a flicker of a bright light from deep inside the creature, illuminating its body. It gasped, mouth stretching one last time, tongue glittering under the moon. Dean frowned as its face contorted from a sleek glimmer back to its regular hideousness.

Guess that's why it was called a shimmer in the first place.

"You got it," Dean said, his breath clouding in the air, then disappearing. He took cautious steps toward his brother, only to find that he was picking up speed as he ventured nearer. A heat spread quickly through Dean's body and it stunned him that he hadn't even noticed he had been cold.

Sam was thrashing in the snow, not responding to his name falling from Dean's lips. He could hear Lucky in the background calling out "Is it dead?" over and over like a broken record. Dean's eyes flicked once to the shimmer. Its eyes had glazed over, traveling from cold to soft to condemned. It held an odd resemblance to the man in the photo Lucky had shown them. Dean nodded to the little man behind him, but he didn't know if he had seen or if he was even looking at Dean.

"Sam." Dean eased his voice, rushing as fast as he could to his brother. "You're okay."

Sam's legs were still kicking, his arms still pushing. Dean tried to see if his eyes were open, hoping he could see for himself that there was no longer a threat looming above him.

He inched closer through the snow, his boots passing by the entry point of one of his stray bullets. "Sam?" his voice even softer now. He wanted to push the worry back down and lock it away where Sam wouldn't hear it. Where Dean couldn't feel it. The not knowing if his brother really was strong enough, though, if he really was better, caused a shiver to race through Dean's body, and he didn't care if he sounded needy. He needed Sam to open his eyes. To talk to him. Even if it was to tell him he was okay, or to go away, tell him he was slowing him down. He'd take anything right now.

www

Sam's head lolled against the snow, his brown hair sticking to small icicles. He looked up, eyes narrowed, watching as his brother crept toward him, gun in his hand, pointed away from him. He wanted to say something. He wanted to tell Dean to stop, not to come any closer. He didn't need his brother racing to him; he wasn't a damsel in distress. He lifted his head as Dean got closer and felt the pull from his shoulder. A pained moan escaped from deep down and he dropped his head back to the snow, closing his eyes.

"Sam?"

He heard Dean stop, and his eyes fluttered open again. His brother stood silently a couple of feet away, hands held palms out, just staring back, his gaze holding Sam's. Pleading. Quietly asking his brother to get up, to come with him. To walk beside him again. Sam had to look away. There were only two answers he could give Dean. And Sam didn't think he could live with either of them at that moment.

He heard a resigned sigh. It was followed by a loud crack, and for a moment, Sam thought maybe it came from deep inside him. Then, just as his eyes could find Dean's again, the frozen water gave way. With no safety net to hold him, Sam's brother fell into the blackness below.

www

"Dean!" Sam pulled his body up and nearly collided twice with a large snow bank as he ran to where Dean had disappeared. Sam skidded to a stop. The hole Dean had fallen through was so small. If he hadn't heard him go down, hadn't seen him standing right there, he would have passed right by it.

"Oh, shit!"

Sam could hear Lucky coming, knew he had the flashlight, but was still too far away to do any good. They hadn't brought a rope or even a knife with them. They had nothing to cut the hole bigger. Sam's hands dove blindly into the icy water.

_The three of us, that's all we have. And that's all I have. Sometimes I feel like I'm barely holding it together, man. And without you or Dad…_

"Dean!" he bellowed into the darkness below. Maybe somehow through the ice and snow and shock, his brother would be able to hear his voice. Find a way to come back to the small hole.

_You've always known what you want and you go after it. I admire that about you. I'm proud of you, Sammy._

Sam felt the cold of the water snake through the layers of clothing and steal precious life from his body. It stabbed and pricked, spreading up his arms and into his chest, sinking into his heart. "Come on!" He forced his mind beyond the sensation, fought with his hands to grasp and coil, not just keep fingers numbly stiff. He had to find him.

_If it's the last thing I do, I'm gonna save you. _

"Sam?"

Sam ignored Lucky. He pushed his body farther into the hole, his arms stretching into the water as far as he could reach.

_Slippery slope, brother._

He felt a small pressure on his shoulder and quickly shrugged it off.

"Hey, man…"

A sound escaped from Sam's mouth that he wasn't expecting, halfway between a breath and a sob, and he felt the hand on his shoulder again.

_Just wait and see._

His head hung down, hiding in the collar of his jacket. His voice was muffled through the fabric. "I can't…find him."

_'Cause it's gonna get darker and darker, and God knows where it ends._

"Let me."

Sam was being pushed aside, out of the way of the hole, and Lucky was hovering over the narrow entrance with his flashlight. He placed the metal butt under his chin and lunged in all at once. Sam thought his entire body was going to disappear into the deep as Lucky's upper half disappeared, but he pulled back, grunting and huffing.

"Shit, help me," he whispered, and Sam was next to him, pulling on the dark coat, hauling Dean's upper torso out of the frigid water and dragging his body across the icy ground.

Sam's eyes burned. Dean's lips were blue, his skin was purple, and his eyes were half-open, half-shut, not seeing anything.

Lucky pulled off his own coat and threw it to the ground. "Strip him to his underwear, and I'll go back to the car and get more clothes." The little guy took off, waddling faster than Sam would have given him credit for.

Sam bent over Dean, tugging the waterlogged jacket off his body, peeling off layers of clothing, cursing himself for not being fast enough.

_Never have been_.

"Dean?" Sam shut his eyes for a brief second, sucking in a breath. Losing his brother wasn't what he wanted. He wanted so much for Dean, wanted to give him what he wasn't able to before, to prove to Dean and to himself that he was strong enough to save Dean. That he was able to do it without making deals with demons, without selling his soul and without losing so many innocents. But this—shimmers, Mother Nature, car crashes—wasn't what he had planned on.

Dean was breathing, barely, which was not a surprise. Bodies submerged under icy waters could be pulled out in many different states of shock. Hypothermia, Sam knew, would be the number one risk. He positioned Dean on Lucky's coat and started kneading circles on his bare chest. Palm flattened, he worked his muscles harder, friction building as he saw Lucky coming back their way, his arms full of dry clothes.

"He okay?" he asked, dropping to his knees, the clothes falling with him, and taking over as Sam pulled out a button-down shirt.

Sam gulped. "I don't know." He shoved Dean's arms into the sleeves and reached over to the pile again. Dean's leather jacket. Sam grabbed it and draped it over his brother's body. He started massaging again from the chest out, his hands warming from the friction with Dean's skin.

"He will be," Lucky said as his hands added warmth to Dean's other side. "I could tell when we were at the cabin…when he was patching you up."

Sam kept rubbing, his eyes wandering over to the man. "Could tell what?"

Lucky met his eyes. "He wouldn't leave you."

_Oh. That._ Sam eyes flickered back, then dropped down to Dean's arm. He blinked hard and swallowed, keeping rhythm with the beat of the music in his head. If he rubbed just right, he could almost hear the tapping to _Misty Mountain Hop_. He laughed a little. He'd have to tell that one to Dean when he woke up.

"S-Sam?" His teeth started chattering and Dean couldn't say anything more.

"Dean?" He leaned over his brother, keeping his hands moving.

"You okay?"

Sam felt his eyes close momentarily. Was _he_ okay? It must be the shock. He guessed falling into an icy cold pond did that to a person. He opened his eyes and leaned closer so Dean would be sure to hear him. "Yeah, I'm okay. I'm okay, Dean."

Lucky jumped up. "I'm gonna grab the passenger door. We can use it to pull him back to the cabin."

Sam nodded, "Okay," his eyes not wavering from his brother.

"What?" Dean's voice was hoarse, his vocal cords scratchy from more than sub-zero temperatures.

"Don't." Sam shook his head. "Don't talk, just…breathe."

Dean blinked a few times, the snow falling down in heavy thumbprints all over his face. "Where's the…sh-shimmer?"

Sam nodded toward the heap a few feet away from them. "Shh, Dean. It's over there."

"Oh." There was a pause as Dean tried to look and then, "Okay, that's… gross." Dean's eyes diverted back to his own body and he watched Sam squeezing his arm. Sam felt his throat bob up and down, his concentration staying on Dean's arm. It had been a rarity lately for Sam to reach out and touch anyone. "Is it…dead?"

"Yeah, Lucky shot it." He tried to smile. "Now shut up, will ya?"

Dean's head turned in the direction Sam was gesturing. "Is Lucky okay?"

Sam stopped for a second. "I haven't…I haven't gotten the chance to talk to him yet."

Dean's eyes ventured back. "You…watch him, Sam."

Sam nodded. "I will."

"Don't…you know, let…him…"

"He won't," Sam promised, and his smile shook. "You can trust me."

Dean's eyes shut.

"Dean?" Sam's hand returned to Dean's chest, rubbing over his brother's heart. "Look at me, man."

Dean's eyes fluttered. "Poor…little guy."

The crappy acting job Sam was doing keeping the smile on his face dissipated as his brother shut his eyes again. "Dean?" He shook his shoulder. "Come on, don't do this to me." He waited a few beats, then hovered near his brother's ear, his voice dipping low. "Dean…" And the truth caught in his throat. The truth he knew his brother needed to hear. The truth he knew Dean would open his eyes for. What he'd been doing in secret with Ruby. How he'd been getting stronger. How he was going to defeat Lilith. Sam's eyes closed, and he imagined saying the words to his brother, imagined them hitting the air. Released from holding it inside any longer, and the freedom that would bring.

And the possible hunt it would engage.

"Here!" Lucky arrived with the passenger door. The man fell to his knees, panting short breaths in and out. "You load him up," he gasped out.

And Sam had no problem following that order.

_-Conclusion, Tomorrow-_

**Playlist:**

_Misty Mountain Hop_ (in reference to) performed by Led Zeppelin


	4. Point It Home

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One

**A/N:** Alright, I lied. I didn't post the conclusion yesterday. It was preempted. So, without further words, let's put it to bed…

**Chapter Four: Point it Home**

Sam blamed himself, even though it was Lucky who was slowing them down. He had taken too long getting the door—even though the damn thing probably weighed more than he did—and he was having trouble keeping up with Sam's long legs.

"You go on ahead!" he hollered when Sam slowed to wait for him.

"No," Sam answered back. "We stay together." He thought about hoisting the small man over his shoulder and pulling them both up the hill, but he knew he'd never hear the end of it. He could go on ahead, leave their friend behind. Dean needed to get inside now, but there was still a bullet in the chamber of Lucky's Colt to consider. And Sam had promised.

When they finally made it back to the sanctuary of the cabin, it was Dean who Sam ended up carrying in over his shoulders. Lucky pulled back the covers on the bed. He made more hot chocolate, spiced it with peppermint, and gave Sam the first-aid kit. Then he set about stoking up a roaring fire.

Sam opened the first-aid kit and removed the warming packs. It only took a few seconds in the microwave before they were ready. He wrapped hand towels around each one and placed them under Dean's armpits, then tucked the covers around him.

His eyes drifted to Lucky. There was still a job to complete. "Hey, man," Sam started, "think you could keep your eye on him for a little bit? I need to go out and…" He paused a minute. He didn't think burn your brother was the best choice of words. "Finish things up."

Lucky's eyes seemed to soften. Sam watched his Adam's apple bob, then the little guy agreed with a quiet, "Okay."

It had only taken him a little over thirty minutes and Sam was back, sitting on the edge of the bed, far enough away where he didn't have to touch. Farther than he had ever sat before when his brother had been hurt. His eyes stayed focused on Dean, but he kept his arms at his sides. He knew it would only take a touch to give in to all the rage and pain Sam had been concealing but he wasn't willing to go there yet.

"Hey, man." Lucky nudged his leg.

Sam looked down at the guy.

Lucky handed him a cup of hot chocolate. Sam accepted it graciously. Tasted really good, actually. Like homemade.

"Gonna be okay?" Lucky moved a side table closer so Sam could set his hot drink down.

Sam looked at his older brother. "Yeah, he will be."

Lucky grinned. "I was talking about you, Sam."

Sam had to blink. And then look away. For all the moments he fought to prove he wasn't a freak, he wasn't different, that he was part of the human race, it always took just one fragile moment of real human contact for him to realize he wasn't always a tower of strength. He swallowed and cleared his throat a couple of times. "Yeah. Sure." And just so he could still have leverage in keeping the power he so desperately needed, he spun the bottle. "How 'bout you? You okay?"

Lucky scrubbed a small hand over his face and down the back of his neck. "I don't know." A stray finger started twisting the gold band on his left hand. A permanent reminder of open wounds. Sam understood. His dad had never had to explain why he always wore his wedding ring, either. "I'm all alone now."

Sam nodded. They may be at different spectrums of the height chart, but alone? That was something Sam could relate to. "Yeah. I was kinda in that position not too long ago."

Lucky's eyes narrowed. "Yeah? How'd you…how'd you get through it?"

Sam stared at the man and wondered about that. Wasn't sure he was through it yet. When he let himself really feel, most of the time it was like he was still smack in the middle of all the loneliness. "I don't know. I guess you just have to give yourself a purpose."

"I've had a purpose. Now, it's gone."

"What's—?"

"Unfinished business," Lucky said, plain and simple, his eyes reaching out and piercing Sam. "I needed an end. When you go through what I did, something just…changes in you. I woke up the next day and I wasn't the same person I was the day before. I just filled all that pain with a plan."

Sam felt his face flush, hot and red, and he nodded at the little man like he was following what he was saying, like Sam understood where he was coming from. It was different, their lives, but revenge was a language anyone could speak.

"Funny thing is," Lucky went on, "I thought I'd feel different after it happened. Better or justified somehow. But you know what?"

Sam waited him out, his mouth sealed tight.

"It doesn't really change anything. I'm still alone. My family's still dead. And shooting him…it… Well, I still have that empty hole. The pain." A little hand waved dismissively at him. "Anyway, you probably don't know what I mean." Then he stared at Sam, maybe seeing something shimmer behind his eyes. "Or, I don't know, maybe you do. Maybe when you spent that time alone or saw that guy die when you were a kid. Or even when you saw the bear go down. I'm sure it was ugly." He sighed. "Unforgettable."

Sam had to look away again, but his eyes only landed on his brother, who was staring back at him, slits of dull hazel teasing him behind lashes that pushed words away. Sam felt instant relief and a choking sensation at the same time. He wanted to speak, to tell Dean how he wanted to run and hide. To tell him the truth. But in the end, all he could do was be there, on the edge of that bed. On the edge of everything. Walking the line between light and dark. And hope—hope—his brother could see how much he needed him.

Because Sam wanted him to see that.

"I remember that old bear," Dean whispered.

Sam's brows knitted across his forehead. "Yeah?"

Dean nodded. "Sure."

Sam was silent. He had held on to the fact that he had been stronger than Dean, stronger _for_ Dean. That he had held the power now to defeat where he and Dean failed. Now, sitting on a mattress in a nowhere cabin next to his brother, Sam felt stripped of everything.

"What happened after the guy fell off the cliff?" Lucky asked.

Sam stared at his brother. He could see the edge of his vision blur, the white from the linens blending together, smearing Dean's image in his view.

Lucky cleared his throat, wanting to be heard. "You know, with the bear?"

Sam blocked parts of his life out of his memory. Things that were too painful or too confusing or just too gory to remember. But there were always firsts in life, and they were always the hardest to forget. "I stood up." He kept his eyes on Dean. "It didn't see me, but it…smelled me or sensed me somehow." He heard Lucky moving closer and realized his voice had thinned. "I started to walk to it, drawn to it, maybe… and then something…something grabbed me."

"What was it?" Lucky asked.

His eyes filled with tears before he had a chance to catch his breath. His lungs scorched with the words as they burned out his throat, "My brother."

Lucky's gaze landed on Dean, then returned to Sam.

"He pulled me down and put his hand over my mouth so I wouldn't scream." Sam remembered the Lamia turning around just as he was being jerked to the ground. He remembered being held tight against Dean's chest, his brother's hand covering his mouth. He remembered looking over and seeing the fallen man staring lifelessly up to the sky, no breath left in his body. He remembered his tears rolling down over Dean's knuckles…

"Then what?"

Sam held still, his stare pinned with Dean's. _Then what?_ Then Dean had leaned in, nestled his mouth against Sam's ear and his lips had moved. Sam would never forget the words his brother spoke to him. _Shut your eyes, Sammy. I'm not goin' nowhere. Nothin' bad's gonna happen to you as long as I'm here. Shhh… just shut your eyes._

"So… what? Your dad killed it?"

Sam nodded. "Yep." He waited for obvious questions: Why would your dad have a gun while you were hiking? How did you get separated from him in the first place? Where's your dad now? But they didn't come, and Sam thought maybe Lucky already knew.

"Wasn't really a bear, was it?" The little guy's voice had changed, taken on a harder edge.

A tear spilled down Sam's cheek, and he quickly wiped it away. "No."

Lucky watched him. Waiting. "What…what was it?"

Sam's eyes melted toward his brother. Wanting, needing him, but shoving it all to the side, because if he didn't, it would explode all over them in a sobbing mess. And Sam couldn't let that kind of control go. "Just another monster."

"Damn." Lucky nodded. "And you were eleven? Shit, you must have felt...I don't know, hurt and scared and—"

"Yeah," Sam finished.

"It's okay to feel like that." Dean's voice hit the air, husky and rough. His eyes stayed on Sam. "It's supposed to hurt."

Lucky gave Dean a small smile, like he was just noticing the man was awake. "Jesus, dude, welcome back from the dead."

Which made both brothers laugh.

www

The little man made sure there were extra pillows, brought in more blankets, set aside some Kleenex, an empty wastebasket, and a deck of cards. It was the biggest help any stranger had given either of them in a long time.

He stood back and grinned. "You know, it's weird, but seeing you guys together like this makes me remember that it wasn't all bad. There was a time when it wasn't sad or bloody." His head bowed down and dark hair obscured his eyes. "I really loved my brother, you know?"

Sam nodded back. "I know. I'm…we're so sorry, Lucky."

Brushing his hair back, the man tried to smile. "Hell, you don't have anything to apologize for. You didn't do anything."

"No, but…we're just sorry your brother got caught up in everything. Couldn't fight himself."

"Oh, I think he fought himself." Lucky's eyes flickered from Sam to Dean, his voice growing soft. "That was part of the problem. Thing I could never figure out, though, was…I don't know why he thought he had to fight himself alone."

It took another twenty minutes for their host to say good night and to be sure there wasn't anything else anyone needed before he retreated with a pillow and blanket to make a bed for himself on the sofa. Sam was relieved when Lucky passed out, exhausted from his hard day's night.

"Think Lucky's okay?"

Sam blinked, his throat bobbing up and down. "I don't know." He glanced over his shoulder.

Lucky had his right arm loosely thrown over his eyes. A rumble of snores escaped his body, intensifying and diminishing in ranges.

"I don't think he even knows yet. But," Sam looked back at his brother, who was more wide-eyed and staring back at him, "I think he's already lived longer than he originally thought he would. He's got a really big heart."

Dean nodded.

"You cold?" Sam asked, pulling at an extra blanket folded at Dean's side.

"I'm okay."

Sam stopped.

"You got a…" Dean's hand started to reach toward Sam but then retreated back and pointed to his own forehead. "You got a ring around your head."

Sam placed his fingers to his temple, remembering the shimmer trying to swallow him, the suction cup seal it had on him. "Yeah." He rubbed at the red mark. "I'm okay, though. It didn't get me."

He looked across the mounds of blankets and found his brother still staring back at him. Sam couldn't quite hold his gaze, his eyes hiding from certain truths.

Dean's head nodded. "Think that's gonna leave one hell of a hickey."

Sam chuckled.

Dean followed with a quiet laugh. "Lucky killed it, though."

Sam nodded, looking back up again. If they were talking about a hunt, he could do that. "Yeah, I made sure. I left—"

"You left?" Dean's eyes narrowed. "You left Lucky?"

Sam smiled in reassurance. "Yeah. Believe me, he was watching you and there was no way he was going to off himself. It was like…he wouldn't have risked anything happening to you." Sam met his brother's eyes and felt a nervous energy exchange between the two of them. "Anyway, I went back out and burned it."

"On the ice?"

"I moved it to the ground first, Dean."

"Oh." Dean cleared his throat. "That's good. Smart."

Sam looked away. Sometimes the talk didn't always stick to the hunt. Sam's fingers played with stray strands of frayed threads on one of the blankets, watching as each fingertip touched a new square. "Dean?"

Dean stayed quiet, waiting.

"Why'd you…why'd you come out on the ice?" Sam glanced up. "I had it under control."

Dean blew out a hot breath. "That thing was trying to eat you." His voice was wet, clogged, but it was still jagged.

Sam tipped his chin down. "I mean, before that. I was trying to draw it away from Lucky so he could shoot it."

"Lucky was scared shitless," Dean growled. "You think you…?" Dean stopped. "What the hell were you thinking, Sam? That you and Lucky could take down the shimmer?"

Sam let out a sigh. "He was there, you weren't, and the shimmer… It was coming fast." He watched his brother following his words, following his thought process. "We had to make a plan."

"And that plan didn't include me." Dean's voice was harsh and defensive, and Sam couldn't blame him. It was always easy for Winchesters to slam doors shut with nothing more than a whisper.

"That's not…that wasn't my intention."

"No?"

"No." He glared at his brother. "I just wanted to end it. Get it done with, and you were…stuck in the car. You came out and started, I don't know, knocking off rounds and shooting at everything that moved."

"I was shooting at the shimmer, Sam."

"Yeah, well, you hit the ice a few times. I guess that's why you fell in."

Dean nodded, his mouth turned down into a familiar frown, clamping up good and tight. "I guess."

Sam sighed and shut his eyes, trying to will the frustration to roll off his shoulders, trying not to place blame with anyone. Things happened. That was the story of their lives. A shiver ran through his body, and he opened his eyes again.

Dean stared back.

Sam swallowed hard. His voice sharpened like a serrated knife. "What?"

"Anything you want to tell me, Sam?"

Sam narrowed his eyes. That was a loaded question. Trapped in a mountain cabin with nothing to run out to but snow and ice, no car, and this, this is what his brother wanted to do? Hash it out? Because the answer to that question was something Dean didn't want to hear, and Sam didn't want to tell. He knew all too well that once it escaped his lips and Dean knew the truth, knew Sam's fear, that his brother would be the one who would run out into the snow and never look back.

"Sam?"

It was beyond huge, and Sam was willing to keep it under wraps for as long as it took. He wiped at the moisture that had collected in his eyes. "Just…"

Dean waited. His breathing slowed until Sam was sure he was holding it.

"Don't…leave."

The salt betrayed Dean's eyes before Sam even realized it. He knew he had given his brother a cop-out answer. His heart wrenched as he watched Dean's eyes squeeze tight. It wasn't the answer Dean had wanted. He just wanted the truth. He wanted Sam's truth. Not his fear. There was no hiding the disappointment on Dean's face over Sam not trusting him enough to let him take some of the weight. To let Dean shoulder some of the burden.

But what does one say when they were both the same? When the outcome has the same result? When only one could win or both could fail? When all the faith you held inside your heart was the gamble?

Sam's brows bunched together over the bridge of his nose. "Dean?" He wanted to say so much more, but lately, his words were getting him into more trouble than his silence. He honestly didn't know which was worse.

Dean cleared his throat. His hand reached up to his eyes and he wiped away tears. "I…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… God… I fucked up, Sam."

Sam shook his head. "What?" he breathed in disbelief and then, so as not to be the liar, he immediately contradicted his brother with a strong, "No."

"I'm a fuck-up." Dean's face scrunched up, a new set of tears found their way out, and he took in a shaky breath. Sam watched as he tried to get it under control. Tried to find his strength while he was losing it. Dean was crumbling, falling slowly into a pit and there was no way Sam would be fast enough to pull his brother out.

"Why are you saying that, man?" Sam drew back, almost scowling at his brother.

He'd just gotten the job done, got them through the night so they could get back on the road and to the Impala. On their way out of this freakin' town and back on the hunt. Back on his agenda, on his timetable: find Lilith and end it.

But none of that mattered. Not tonight. Not to his brother. "Dean?" There was only one thing that mattered. It was still the same. Always would be.

Dean cracked a small smile. "I was dragged to Hell…"

Sam quieted, his body slowing as his brother spoke. Images of that night flooded his mind. Images his brother would never know. Images that kept Sam awake at night, urged him to find a purpose.

"…and I clawed my way out of a coffin…"

A coffin Sam had constructed. A grave Sam had dug. Not too deep, just in case. A cross Sam had pushed into the ground so he would know…

So he could find, locate, resurrect.

"…just to be sitting here today. Across from my brother…"

He'd never wanted to bury his brother. Hadn't thought it would come down to that in the end. He'd thought he'd be strong enough just by wanting to be strong enough. By believing he could be. But in the end, he wasn't enough.

"…and you're slipping away so fast, I can't catch you."

Sam didn't think he wanted to be caught anymore. He'd rather win, even if meant sacrificing himself for his brother. He stretched his back out, watching and waiting. It was another game in which they were reaching master-level at playing. "Why'd you come out on the ice?" Sam asked again, his voice purposefully hard. Cold to Dean's soft. If he pushed with the right amount of force, he could back his brother against a wall of unspoken words. Push it all under the rug and save it all for another day.

Dean reached his hand across the blankets and wrapped it around Sam's forearm.

Sam's eyes shifted from Dean's eyes to his hand. The hold his brother had on him was so warm it burned. He felt Dean readjust his fingers, his clasp tightening. God, it was blistering and scalding, and Sam lifted tired lids to see Dean's eyes glistening back at him. Dean wasn't going to let him go, and Sam knew then that Dean would catch him kicking and screaming if it came down to it.

"I have to save you, Sammy."

Sam suddenly lost his breath and leaned in, wrapping his own fingers around his brother's forearm. It was the only thing that kept him from slipping and falling to the ground. He was sure of it.

He felt Dean's hold suddenly calm him. It was strengthening and soothing and so tender against him, Sam didn't know how he could have ever thought otherwise. He swallowed back the tears that blurred his vision, his mouth forming the only word he could think of: "Oh."

Sam watched as his brother rubbed his pulse point. Demon blood mixed with the Winchester line. Dean's thumb circled it, calming the injured spot, smoothing the pain away, and Sam wished…he wished he could stop time. Right here. Right now. Not advance another minute more. Just Dean and him with nothing to kill, nothing to hunt. Not losing and not winning. Just being. Young and vital and here. Because tomorrow was another day, and it was another chance for him to lose the game again. It was a fool's wish, but being foolish was what wishes were made for.

Sam felt Dean strengthen his clasp, and he hoped the stronger bloodline would win the race. Dean cleared his voice. "But I can't do it alone."

Sam locked his eyes with Dean's and held on.

www

It took two days, but Wilfred finally came up the mountain. A bright red Ford pickup truck with an extended cab came barreling into the tiny driveway of the cabin. The mechanic got out and slammed the door, brushed by both boys, almost stepped on Lucky, and looked out into the valley.

"Aw, fuck!" he hollered, his voice echoing back to him. He turned on his heels, pissed as hell, and glowered first at Sam, then at Dean.

"They killed it," Lucky said.

"What?" the big man demanded.

"Too Tall and Swagger Lee." Lucky smiled. "They killed the cougar. The one that's been attacking everyone."

Wilfred looked back down at the wreckage. Way off to the side, there was a small mound of ashes. "How do you know it was the one?"

Lucky looked over the valley with him. "It was rabid. It was going to kill me, but these guys," he motioned to the boys, "they saved my life."

Large shoulders fell. "That so?" Big fingers scratched at a balding head. "Well, we got insurance. We'll be okay." He glanced up. "But Addie's comin' up to take a look, so unless you guys want to get shot or stabbed, I'd suggest you grab your shit and hightail it out with me."

They didn't need to be told twice as they shoved their duffels into the back of the truck. Lucky asked to come along down the mountain, thought dinner at the only dive in town sounded okay, and Wilfred offered to drive him back up before it got too dark.

The brothers crawled into the back. Lucky took shotgun in the front as big Willie started up the engine. The Ford roared to life, a little happy tune ringing out of the speakers.

_I have a secret to tell_

_ From my electrical well_

_ It's a simple message and I'm leaving out the whistles and bells. _

Dean sighed. "Willie, really? Do we have to listen to this shit?"

Willie glowered, his lips smacking together. "Hey, jerk-face, in my cab, driver picks the music, person in the back shuts the fuck up."

Dean looked away, a smile ghosting his face. Couldn't argue with that logic, even though the cheery jumble-worded jingle was getting stuck in his head.

_Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch_

_ Who watches over you_

_ Make a little birdhouse in your soul._

Lucky's head turned towards the big man, his face drawn up into a question mark. "Is this… They Might Be Giants?"

Wilfred glanced over and held up his oversized hand for the little guy to high-five.

Lucky obliged and then stared back out the windshield. "Soundtrack of my life, man."

Wilfred dropped the gear into drive. "Let's beat Addie outta here. She had to stop and pick up Lemon Pie, so she'll be gettin' here any time now."

Dean edged up in his seat. "Willie…"

"Bill."

"Bill…" Dean paused. "Tell me you didn't actually name your kid after a pie."

Yellow and green smiled back. Left incisor missing. "Shit, no."

Dean nodded and sat back against the seat.

"Her momma had all namin' rights. Stupid name for a kid. I tried tellin' her that. All it got me was a busted-out tooth." He shook his finger in warning. "Don't ever marry a redhead."

Dean smiled back at him in the rear view mirror.

"How's the Impala?" Sam shouted over the music. Dean watched as his brother's knee nervously bounced. He knew once they got back to the car, back on the road, it would be worthless going to Bobby's. No matter what the sign, no matter where they were going to be headed, Lilith wouldn't be there at this point. They had wasted too many hours, and another seal was surely broken by now. He knew his brother was sick inside about it.

So Sam asked about the Impala, wondering how their car was. How their home was. The only tangible connection to their family, to their past and their future. To one another. The only thing Sam had admitted had comforted him when Dean was gone.

The big man turned his head slightly. "Wasn't as bad as I thought. You boys sure do love that old girl and it shows. Found the crack and patched her up. Just keep takin' care of her, and she'll come along."

Sam shifted his weight, his leg clumsily bumping up against Dean's. Dean elbowed him in his side and looked over. His voice was low enough for only Sam to hear. "Just sit back, Sammy."

But Sam stayed tense, his body leaning over too far, his left shoulder almost closing in on Dean's right. "You know," his eyes shifted to his hands, his fingers drumming his knee, "I traced every inch of the Impala-"

"I know you did. I was wrong to say you didn't take care of her." Hoped that would end the conversation because the back of Willie's cab was too confining to go another round with the Undefeated Sam Winchester.

"Because," and his voice hitched a second, caught against an invisible force inside, "Because I missed you and I knew… I knew you had touched every part of that car." He lifted his eyes again and they shined back.

Dean found himself caught off guard, wasn't sure what to make of the confession. And it was a confession. Maybe not what Dean was looking for the other night, maybe not the big secret Sam was holding close to his chest, but it was a start.

So he nodded. Smiled a little, even. Gave his brother a small wink. Followed it with a quick clearing of his throat as he curved in closer. "I missed you, too. Now shut up and sit back, will ya?"

Sam rolled his shoulders and pressed back in the seat. His face pulled tight against his skin, his brows drew down into a forever frown.

Dean rested a calm hand on his brother's knee. "It's gonna get a little bumpy." And then, just like that, he let his brother go, looking out the small window to his right. He felt the silver flask pushing into his chest, and wanted that drink. Felt a silver bullet in his right jeans pocket, a gift from Lucky.

His eyes slid over, and he saw Sam staring back. Sorrow and regret. A moment wasted and gone.

Dean shrugged. "Dude, you worry too much. Just try to relax and enjoy the ride."

**Playlist:**

_Birdhouse in Your Soul_ performed by They Might Be Giants

**A/N:** Thanks for reading. Reviews welcome. You guys have been the best!


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